Rogue
by RedFox09
Summary: Cutlass and Damascus were outcasts in their own pack from the beginning, even before going into exile. Rated M for violence, language, and sexual content. Contains brother/ sister incest. Lemon in chapter 6.
1. Chapter 1

The warm summer sun hung lazily in the late-afternoon skies of Unova Route 11, its light glistening beautifully off the cascading waterfalls found there. Two young Pawniard, one red and one blue, made their way down the sheer height of the stone masses that constructed the majority of the area, keeping themselves concealed as best as possible in the trees and tall grass.

This year's spring had brought a bountiful harvest of prey. To a wild Pawniard, this meant several things: Easier hunting, less disputes with neighboring packs over the food supply, and lastly, a better chance to prove their worth by contributing to their pack.

It was common knowledge that any Pawniard unable to serve their pack sufficiently would either be killed or exiled, depending on their age. A pack member who couldn't serve their purpose properly was nothing more than dead weight to carry, and another mouth to feed.

The two Pawniard siblings kept on opposite sides of the dirt path humans would take through the route, moving quickly but keeping silent. The female clad in red-and-dark gray armor halted when she caught sight of a rather plump Zangoose rooting around in a patch of tall grass a bit closer to the male. He, in turn, stopped as well. The Zangoose was enitrely oblivious to their presence, no doubt hunting for suitable prey.

The irony was that the Zangoose itself was being hunted.

As the cat-ferret Pokemon was closer to the male Pawniard, he would wait for his sister's signal before initiating the ambush. In the meantime, he simply inched closer to the edge of the cluster of trees he hid in, taking utmost care to keep his bright blue armor out of sight.

To alert him of her readiness, his sister held the blade extending from the end of her arm under a ptach of sunlight that broke through the trees above, aiming the reflected light at her brother's icy blue eyes with precision driven by experience. As his pupils dilated into thin slits from the sudden intake of light, he gave a brief nod.

The very moment the Zangoose had its back turned to him, he rushed out from the trees and leapt onto it, shoving a blade into its right shoulder so as to weaken any slashing claw-based attacks it may have used, as well as providing a temporary distraction for his partner. The younger sibling then lashed out at the Zangoose's chest and stomach before it could recover and defend itself, painting the green grass red with its splattered blood.

Before the Normal-type could return the attack, the shiny Paniard on its back shoved his other blade into its left shoulder and twisting it, halting the intended attack just long enough for his sister to slash through the white fur adorning the Zangoose's throat. It moved to lunge at her, but she was fast enough to dodge, allowing her brother to force the defending Pokemon face-first into the ground with a hearty shove. It struggled to regain its footing and get up for a short moment, giving a sickening gurgle as it choked and suffocated on its own blood. Before even another minute had passed, it ceased movement altogether.

The blue-and-gray Steel-type dismounted the carcass he stood upon, coming to his sister's side. "I can't wait to see the look on Father's face when he sees us bring this back to the camp," he beamed, shaking some of the blood from his blades.

"Let alone the look on Switch's face," his sister smirked. "I'll have bragging rights for at least a week or two for being the first in the pack to kill a Zangoose."

"Y'know, Cutlass," he gave a light sigh, "for hating him so much, you sure do value his opinion."

"Just grab the legs, Damascus," Cutlass rolled her eyes, using both arms to lift the Zangoose's upper body. Damascus did the same on his end.

With teamwork, the two Pawniard were able to haul the carcass up the steep cliffs and rocky strusture dappled with deciduous flora, getting it back to their camp within a few short hours.

The camp consisted of several adjacent areas. There was a small cave carved out of the stone structure of the route that served mainly as a place to sleep and store prey. There was a thick ledge that led from it out to the right, into a small clearing with large boulders placed about it used for sparring sessions, and a nearby clearing with little more than a pile of timber for firewood used to heat prey before consumption. That clearing was, fortunately, quite close to a calmer part of one of the rivers that ran through the route and led to waterfalls, in case of any fire accidents. The camp, as a whole, sat on top of a very tall cliff, only a short height down from the very peak of the small mountain.

It was a difficult area to reach, but that also made it nearly impossible to invade or fight any large battles on, should any neighboring packs get any bright ideas about expansionism. One Pawniard could quite easily knock another off the edge of the cliff. Even if the defending Pokemon didn't hit land, they would surely sink and drown in any of the whitewater rivers that roared around two sides of the cliff. If not, they would simply be crushed under the sheer weight of the waterfall those rivers ran to, while being speared by the sharp rocks at the bottom.

The siblings brought their catch into the cave's opening and were met with varied reactions from the five pack members there, their expressions of either impressed disbelief or skepticism much more clearly visible with their helmets removed. The siblings set their catch down in a hollowed-out part of the lower cave wall off in a far corner that was meant to store food, just before one Pawniard in particular spoke up.

"How on Earth did you get that Zangoose carcass away from the Mandibuzz?" The question was not meant as an insult, but was a genuine question.

"We didn't." Damascus removed his helmet, allowing the blades at the back of his head to reveal themselves and help redirect sound so he could hear better. "Cutlass killed it," he gestured to his sister.

"Cool story, bro," the Pawniard named Switch that Cutlass had mentioned before spoke next, folding his arms over his chest. "Now tell the one that's not a lie!"

Laughter broke out among the other four pack members.

"That Zangoose wouldv'e seen your bright blue ass from the other side of the mountains, and there's no way a _girl _could have killed it if the rest of us couldn't."

At that, Cutlass abruptly shoved another of the Pawniard aside to stand directly before Switch, holding a blood-stained blade only a short distance from his eyes, and glaring daggers at him all the while.

"If **this** –" she nearly jabbed his eye on the second word – "isn't proof enough for you, then go check the wounds and just _try _to tell me it was killed by something other than a Pawniard's blade."

Switch made a face at her before taking her suggestion into action. He rolled the dead body over so that it lay face-up, and briefly examined the slash wounds.

"... So you slit its throat because you couldn't cut into its gut deep enough?" He turned back from the torso up to face her.

"I had to," she scoffed. "That thing's fatter than your ego."

"You still killed it like a _girl_."

Immediately, Damascus attempted to step between Switch and Cutlass, knowing full well what her reaction would be, but to no avail. She maneauvered around him and held the same blade that ended the Zangoose's life to Switch's throat.

"Maybe we should take this outside so I can kill _**you **_like a girl!"

"That's quite enough, the both of you," a third voice broke in, far deeper and more mature than the other two.

Seven pairs of slitted eyes widened minutely, all looking in the same direction at once.

A Bisharp stood at the mouth of the cave, towering over the four Pawniard at his sides, armor gleaming in the setting sun. He removed his helmet, making the look of disdain on his face clearly visible.

"Damascus, what's going on here?" he looked to his primary heir and the oldest of his pack for answers first.

"Switch was harrassing Cutlass, Father," Damascus extended one blue arm out to Switch. "I was just attempting to intervene when you got here."

No one even had to be told to move out of the way when the tallest of the Steel-types collectively made his way to the two Pawniard spoken of.

"Cutlass, is this true?"

"Yes, Father." She ducked her head a tad lower in his presence. "Damascus and I killed a Zangoose earlier, and when we brought it back here to store it until dinner, Switch accused us of lying. Even worse, he mocked me for the methods I used to kill it."

The Bisharp glanced to his first-in-line, who nodded in agreement. His gaze held more contempt when it fell upon Switch. "Does anyone else have another version of the story they'd like to share?" he addressed the entire group, though his eyes remained on Switch.

Though Switch had several close friends in the pack that were present, they dared not try to lie to their leader. It had been known among everyone even very early-on that Switch was prone to putting down others with more skill in fighting or hunting than him in a childish effort to make himself bigger. Cutlass and Damascus, of course, made the perfect targets. They were both considerably different than the rest of the group (Cutlass being the only female, and Damascus having a coloration that was nearly unheard of for a Pawniard), not to mention they were the oldest of the pack other than Rapier himself, and by extension, the most skilled. On top of all that, they were both in line to take Rapier's place as leader once he was deceased.

The above-mentioned Bisharp leaned down a little closer to Switch and lowered his voice to the kind of calm, quiet tone that a parent would use to make their child know they were in serious trouble.

"Do you deny it?"

"No," Switch mumbled, hanging his head. His slitted eyes stared disconnectedly at his own feet when Rapier spoke next.

"Then you will go without dinner tonight, you will take the night watch, _and_you will lead the dawn patrol tomorrow, starting at the northern border."

"But that's not even – !"

" – Would you also like to take up the afternoon patrol?" Rapier's voice hardened almost alarmingly when Switch talked back to him. The younger Dark-type glanced around briefly at his packmates, all of whom were either staring at him or their leader in complete silence, not even daring to exchange murmurs. He then turned forward to face Cutlass, who despite having the majority of her face covered by her helmet, still held a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"... No..." he sighed in defeat, letting his arms fall to his sides.

"I had thought as much," the tallest Pokemon present stood up straight again, visually surveying the pack he governed, or at least the part of it that happened to be present. They all had their full attention on him and stood as straight as he did, save for Switch.

"Ideally, this should be yet another lesson to all of you," the ruler's voice sliced through the silence as fluently as his blades had sliced through so many fallen soldiers of packs who dared defy his own.

"It disheartens me that these types of petty skirmishes are still taking place among you." His eyes sweeped about the cave with disapproval as he spoke, making eye contact with each and every individual Pawniard. "The youngest of this pack of thirteen members has just reached the age of fifteen at the start of this year's spring. This behavior is utterly unacceptable for anyone who has passed the age of twelve."

He began to slowly move about the gathered pack, the sound of steel scratching against stone accompanying his every step. "Furthermore," he continued, the pace of his speech picking up a little, "desecrating the honor of your own packmates, let alone your future ruler or rulers, _my very own blood_, is an offense not to be taken lightly." He stopped in place and nodded to Switch. "This time, Switch's punishment is hard work on top of lack of food and sleep. Next time, the penalty is loss of hunting rights, and then..." he paused, making a sweeping motion with one arm, as if gesturing a slowed-down version of a horizontal cut, "... I may just take away his breeding rights so as to prevent future generations from taking on this deplorable behavior from him."

No one even so much as giggled, but Cutlass had a bit of trouble holding back a snicker.

"_If that will be all_," her father turned from the torso up to the Zangoose, "we will start preparing dinner. Two of you, bring that carcass with me to the burning grounds right away."

"Y-yes, sir, Rapier!" one of the youngest Pawniard choked a little on his sentence, taking up one end of the load as another carried the opposite end. The two promptly followed the Bisharp out of the cave and to the right with their heavy luggage in tow. There was still a group silence among the nine remaining Pokemon for a moment until Switch gave Cutlass a look of disgust, and grumbled the follwing words:

"_Daddy's little girl_..."

Many things happened at once. Cutlass inhaled a sharp breath through her clenched teeth, attempting to lunge at him just as Damascus stopped her short, seizing her by the somach and chest from behind, previous experience making it easy to hold her securely in place while avoiding any accidental stabs to her back with his "ribs." The rest of the pack either laughed or backed away from her still-flailing arms as she made a vain attempt to free herself, or at least injure someone in the process.

"Cutlass, calm down..." Damascus attempted to console her, though he already knew from years of experience that she wouldn't be calming down for at least five more minutes.

"I'll be calm at his funeral!" she snapped, still trying to jerk away from her brother, but with no success. She ceased for only a short moment to pull the mouthpiece of her helmet down under her chin, allowing for clearer speech.

"I'LL BE CALM THE MINUTE I TEAR HIM FIVE NEW ASSHOLES WITH HIS OWN BLADES AND DUMP HIM HEADFIRST INTO THE RAPIDS!"

Damascus merely rolled his eyes and heaved a frustrated sigh, mentally reprimanding himself for even trying. This sort of thing had long been routine for the siblings. While Damascus could easily ignore being poked fun at for his unusual coloring, Cutlass had a much shorter fuse, a lot less patience, and a vastly larger amount of teasing and insults to put up with. He had to hand it to her, though – she was a lot stronger than anyone else in the pack ever gave her credit for. He found himself having to either tighten or adjust his grip often.

Within a few minutes, the other Pawniard left, either for lack of further interest, or to go do their duties. Cutlass's struggling had subsided even before then, but Damscus still held onto her for just a few more drawn-out moments before finally letting go.

No words of consolement could be spoken that already hadn't been several times over, leaving a brief but heavy silence.

"... Why do you always do that... ?" she shook her head lightly, turning to look back at him with thick eye pupils.

"Do what?"

"You never let go right when I stop. You always wait a little while first. Why?"

He swallowed, choosing his words carefully.

"Maybe I just feel like I don't hug my sister enough sometimes." He bit the inside of his lip, cutting his eyes to the side for just a split second. He couldn't bring himself to look straight at her while he said this, knowing what she didn't.

"Oh..." Her eyes fell to the stone floor they stood upon as she adjusted her mouthpiece back to its former position over her nose and mouth.

"... I'm going out to the peak," she mumbled. "I'll be back by dinner."

"See you then."

He watched her exit the cave and turn left, leaving him alone. He stood in place for what felt like half an hour, watching the sun sink outside.

"... I'd better go help with dinner," he sighed, putting his helmet back atop his head, leaving the cave in the opposite direction Cutlass had.

* * *

><p>Author's Comments:<p>

I hope this caught your interest at least a little bit.

Any Warriors fan might find a few familiar elements here, but those also exist in plenty of other writings besides just that series, so don't even bother telling me I'm ripping anyone off.

I'll get to work on chapter 2 starting next week. Hopefully I'll get done with it as fast as I did with this one.

Links to Cutlass and Damscus's reference sheets are on my profile page.

Cutlass, Damascus, Switch, Rapier © RedFox09

Pawniard, Bisharp, Zangoose, Mandibuzz © Nintendo, Gamefreak


	2. Chapter 2

The light of a crackling fire gleamed off the blades and steel of the eleven small Pokemon surrounding it. Their leader had left them a well-cooked Zangoose and gone off on his own to hunt for what he would eat the following morning, as he always did. The Pawniard he ruled—all except Switch—were required to sit and eat every bite of edible meat, ensuring nothing went to waste. They hardly had to be told to do this, however, as this was their only meal for the day, and possibly the next, or even the one after that. Hunting did not always yield success, nor was there always enough to go around after a successful hunt.

Damascus was the only one present who had eaten less than three bites, instead more focused one watching the trees surrounding the clearing for any sign on Cutlass's return. She had said she'd be back by the time dinner started. Why wasn't she? It wasn't like her at all...

One of his packmates noticed how distracted he looked and spoke just above the rest of the chatter.

"Still waiting for Cutlass?"

The unexpected question being directed at Damascus caught him off-guard, and he turned back more quickly than he needed to, jumping a little.

"Oh, yeah. I know you probably don't care, but someone has to."

"I'm just glad I don't have to listen to her crap all evening," another of the pack cut in from the opposite side of the fire. "I think you and I both know she would've gone on all night about killing this stupid Zangoose."

Everyone but Damascus nodded and muttered in general agreement.

"And you wouldn't have done the same?" Damascus raised his voice, tone hardening just noticeably. Everyone else stopped their chatting and faced him as he stood abruptly from his seat, raising one accusing blade to point at all of them.

"I may not have the rank to give anyone orders yet, but the minute I do, this kind of shit had better stop." His eyes darted among theirs as he continued. "And Arceus help you all if anything should happen to me that puts her in charge, because I know damn well she won't even tolerate it." He put his arm to rest at his side, starting to turn away from them. "She already can't tolerate it," he spat over his shoulder.

Without even waiting for a reply he was sure he didn't want to hear, he turned his back to them and left with utmost haste, trembling just a little. He headed in the direction of the sleeping quarters, his steps carrying both the force of his anger and the speed of his impatience. Involuntarily, the blades at the ends of his arms unsheathed a tad beyond their normal length—normally a Pawniard's natural response to being provoked into violence. He had to lift his arms forward a little to keep the steel from dragging in the dirt ground.

He stopped to peer into the cave with relative ease—thanks to being half Dark-type—and found it was devoid of any occupants. At this, he kept going past it, to the left of the cave's opening when exiting it. From there, he only had to hike a relatively short distance to his destination.

The Steel-type reached the summit of the moon-bathed mountain he was to inherit. It was a patch of flat rock only just large enough for a few occupants, perhaps the length of two or three Seviper if they straightened their bodies out, with a few trees taking up some of that space. As suspected, Cutlass was hunched over at the end of it, sitting with her legs crossed. She didn't notice her brother standing a short distance behind her until the wind picked up and swished past his bladed armor. The moment she heard the familiar sound, she whipped around to face him, wearing an expression that told Damascus she hadn't expected anyone to come looking for her. When she noticed who it was, however, she was calm again.

"I'll eat dinner later," she forced her voice to stay even and turned back around, wiping her arm across her eyes. Damascus knew right then and there he wasn't leaving for a while.

"Are you okay?" he approached her, knowing the answer already.

"I'm fine," she sniffed. "The wind just got into my eyes, that's all." He bit his lip, coming to her side.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"The wind? No." She still faced straight ahead, purposefully avoiding eye contact. He shook his head, cutting his eyes off to the side and back to her again.

"Cutlass, you're a lot of things, but a skilled liar isn't one of them, thank Arceus." He got down on one knee, and placed the flat side of his blade on her shoulder. Only then did she turn to look at him, tears still evident at the corners of her eyes.

"You know you can always talk to me about anything, don't you?"

She stared into his eyes for a brief moment, trying to keep her expression neutral. "... I know." She faced forward again, the moon's light shining brightly in her eyes as she stared at it, trying to avoid his eyes. "But I don't want to talk about it."

Damascus removed his blade from her shoulder and seated himself beside her. "No one ever really wants to, but everyone needs to, Cutlass."

"Touché ," she forced a weak smile, but still avoided his eyes, looking to the faint light of the stars overhead instead. "I'd really rather not, though."

"I guess I can't very well force you to, then," Damascus spoke in a sigh, facing the same way she did, but still keeping her just on the edge of his vision. "Maybe one of these days I'll get it out of you... somehow."

"You'd have to hold me down first..." she mumbled nonchalantly.

Knowing her, she very well could have meant that literally, but Damascus heard it a slightly different way. He choked for a moment when he tried to swallow just then, and immediately faced away from her, feeling his face heat up. He mentally chided himself for thinking that way—let alone thinking that way around his own sister—and covered his face from her view with one oddly-shaped blade.

"You okay?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I'm fine," his voice cracked a little. He swallowed again, and managed to succeed this time. "I think I just coughed up a bit of stomach acid, that's all..." he lied to her. He'd found himself lying to her more and more as of late. He hated himself for it, but what other choice did he have?

Cutlass, oblivious of this, shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You're such a spazz lately, you know that?"

"I know..." he mumbled.

She scooted a bit closer to him and leaned into his side, closing her eyes. He tensed just minutely at her touch, but regardless, put an arm around her. He laid his blade to rest on her stomach, between her two sets of protruding ribs. The shiny had to remind himself she was only leaning on him like this because it was late and she was tired after a day of hunting and hiking. It meant nothing more than that.

It would never mean anything more than that.

The day after the next, Cutlass and Damascus were due for their monthly sparring session, as was another pack member, Xiphos. Once every month or so, every pack member was required to spar with another in a "fake battle" of sorts, in which neither participant would be fatally injured. This would ensure that everything the Pawniard learned in previous combat training would be put to use even in times of peace, and their skills would stay as sharply whet as the blades with which they executed their advanced techniques. Pack leaders would oversee these sessions, and further advise them in areas where improvement was needed.

Damascus and Rapier watched from the very edge of the clearing, half-hidden by the trees. Cutlass stood at one end of the dirt patch and Xiphos, at the opposite end. He, being only a year or two her junior, had a fair chance of beating her.

The battle commenced when both Pawniard nodded once to one another.

Cutlass sprinted directly toward her opponent, planning to veer off a little at the last moment and give him a Night Slash in the side, but was cut off by a Sucker Punch. Knocked off-balance just enough, she had to take a second to right herself, spitting a muffled curse at him from behind the mouthpiece of her helmet. That move was so cheap!

Before Xiphos had another chance to do anything else, Cutlass followed through with her original attack, still making sure to only leave a relatively shallow cut in his side. While she was still close enough, however, he executed a hasty Assurance, the attack being made much stronger by Cutlass's previous move.

She was blown back a little, but still managed to land on her feet, even if crouching. Now Xiphos had gotten on her bad side. Fighting with such cowardly and dishonorable technique was something she had little to no tolerance for. She knew of one move she could use that could win her nearly any battle with a Pawniard—a move passed on to her through generations of her bloodline.

As soon as Xiphos moved in for another attack, she struck first with a Brick Break directly to the stomach. His reaction, however, was not what she'd expected. He was blown back a fair distance, but he somehow recovered and countered with Revenge. The attack's power was doubled, and she was already at a severe type disadvantage to it. She didn't stand a chance. She was knocked down and out by the sheer force of the blow, skidding in the dirt a short distance. She was halted abruptly when her back slammed against a boulder.

She dared not attempt movement after that, and instead only trembled from the pain.

It was his father's presence alone that kept Damascus from saying or doing anything out of line. He did, however, give Xiphos a rather nasty scowl, even if it wasn't visible with his helmet in the way.

"Cease," Rapier's voice boomed, reverberating in the atmosphere just slightly. He collectively made his way to the center of the battlefield, walking with such a pace as if he had all the time in the world. "You did very well, Xiphos, but don't you think that was a bit much for a simple practice match?"

"Damn straight it was!" Cutlass shouted from the other end of the field before her packmate even had a chance to open his mouth, still lying back against the rock, holding the flat end of her blade to the bruise on her chest. "I demand a rematch! In a REAL fight!"

Her brother averted his gaze from that direction, nearly scoffing in disbelief of her request. Her father, however, merely looked down upon her and blinked, unfazed, as if he'd half-expected it.

"And why in the world should I allow that? Your injuries already render you useless for at least a day or two. What if you were both to be injured further because of your demand?"

"I would've won if he hadn't fought like a dirty coward!" she nearly screamed. "I could beat anyone in the pack if they fought with integrity-!" she was cut off by her own sudden fit of coughing. She spat the small amount of blood she'd hacked up onto the dirt ground before her, still glaring right at her father with defiance. "You've trained me well enough, I could probably beat YOU if I tried!"

Damascus was pretty sure his heart and stomach had just switched places.

A Pawniard NEVER spoke to their leader that way, even if they had a death wish. The punishment for defying a leader or questioning their ability to hold that position could very well be worse than just dying. The Dark-type clad in blue panicked inwardly, fearing for his sister's well-being. He ran up to Rapier, speaking a mile a minute.

"I-I'm sure she doesn't mean that, F-Father, and I apologize sincerely on her behalf. I'll go and talk to her, I can—"

Rapier raised one hand to Damascus to silence him, both eyes still fixed on Cutlass. To his heir's dismay, a glimmer of amusement shone in his eyes as a small smirk crept its way onto his face. He went over to Cutlass with the same gait as when he'd walked onto the field.

"No, Damascus," he chuckled lightly. "She is eighteen years of age, and that is more than old enough for her to take responsibility for her own actions and words." He took just a few steps nearer to his second-in-line, and bent down closer to look her in the eyes.

"Are you sure you want to stand by that claim, or should I let you off with a warning now?"

She didn't flinch. "I'm not afraid of you, Father. I meant what I said and I will prove it when I'm beckoned to." Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth.

"You do realize the penalty if you should be proven wrong, don't you?" he warned her one last time, raising an eyebrow at her. Still, her expression remained stoic, and she easily met his stare with own.

Meanwhile, Damascus cast her a pleading look that begged her not to answer, to be reasonable for once, to listen to him just this one time if never again...!

But she spoke anyway.

She spoke only one word, her tone devoid of any fear or hesitation.

"Exile."

Took me a while, but I did it! And this time I spent twice as much time and effort trying to find mistakes, because I noticed a bunch in Chapter 1 after I already posted it everywhere. I'm sure I still missed one or two, but oh well.

Well, it's hardly a secret why I was apprehensive about writing this anymore. It's because of the obvious and terrible pairing.

Cutlass, Damascus, Rapier, Xiphos © RedFox09

Pawniard, Bisharp © Nintendo, Gamefreak


	3. Chapter 3

Cutlass lay in a makeshift bed of cut grass at the back of the otherwise empty sleeping quarters, her body wounded and her pride all but shattered. With her back and chest in their condition, it was all but impossible to find a comfortable resting position. At the very least, she'd found a smooth part of the cave wall to lean against for back support, and once she'd stopped coughing up blood the first night, Damascus had replaced her grass bed himself. As expected, the older sibling had been left up to the task of looking after his sister during her recovery. He volunteered for it immediately. Judging by the placement of the moon, her brother would be coming in soon to bring Cutlass her share of tonight's dinner, if there was any.

She'd sat there in place for the last two days and nights, left with nothing to do but watch the sun sink and eventually set in the late afternoon. Though she watched it ceaselessly, she didn't see it. She was far too preoccupied with her thoughts. She replayed the whole sparring match that led her to this state over and over in her mind. She'd gotten over losing the match, and found all the mistakes she made that caused her to lose it, all the times she'd left herself open, all the times she'd reacted just a tad too slow, all the times she could've struck just a little bit harder. She would make sure not to make those mistakes again. There was no problem there.

What concerned her was how upset she'd gotten over it.

In all actuality, her own anger may have been the main reason she lost in the first place. She felt ashamed for letting her temper get the better of her so easily. She'd even gone so far as to take it out on her own leader and father, and what good did that do but get her into even more trouble? She was beginning to understand why Damascus was always telling her to calm down, not let it get to her, ignore it. Even still, that didn't explain why he always made such a fuss over her all the time. That one, she would still have to figure out.

Now, knowing all that didn't necessarily make her much less mad.

Though she displayed little to no outer emotion, even with her whole face visible, inwardly she seethed. Losing in a practice match as badly as she did—right in front of Rapier, at that—was utterly humiliating. As much as she appreciated Damascus being there for her, his babying her never helped matters much, either, And now... now she was reduced to little more than a useless piece of dead weight. She hated being this helpless, unable to do nearly anything on her own. She loathed having to be taken care of, like a clueless, mewling little hatchling. She was more than this, Arceusdammit!

The Dark-type huffed and attempted to do something she hadn't for nearly three days. She tried to push herself up and stand without using the cave wall for support. The pain in her back, however, made it extremely difficult as she tried to straighten it, biting the inside of her lip...

"Cutlass, what are you doing?"

Damascus scurried over to her side and put the flat side of a blade against her back, frantically making sure he didn't drop the piece of cooked meat he'd skewered with the other blade. "You're supposed to be resting!" You can't get up until your back's better!" He tried to coax her into lying down again, only to have his arm swatted away.

"I'm so sick of just sitting here and not doing anything!" she nearly yelled at him, but thought better of it. She reluctantly complied when the shiny Pawniard tried to get her to sit again. He hooked his arm around hers and lowered her down into the grass with meticulous care, supporting her weight in the process.

"I know you hate it, Cutlass," he sighed in frustration, seating himself beside her, "but it's for your own good." He leaned forward and shook his head just enough for his helmet to slide off onto his lap, taking care that the axe-like steel on the front of it didn't nick his legs. He then held up one forearm to her, on which he had secured a chunk of cooked Braviary meat.

"Here, eat this."

"Have you eaten yet?" the female Pawniard mumbled to her feet.

"That doesn't matter," he purposefully skirted around giving her a direct answer. "You can't get better if you don't eat something, and there's no promise we'll have anything to eat tomorrow or the next day. Besides, you love Braviary. I hunted all afternoon to find this for you. I even got you the dark meat..."

She furrowed her brow at the food and shook her head as a thought crossed her mind. She then looked to his face, which held a hint of mild desperation. He looked almost as if he HAD to see her eat the bird, as if he himself wouldn't be okay if he wasn't reassured by it.

"Damascus..." she grimaced lightly, though her expression still remained mostly interrogative. It was like the look you would give your lifelong best friend if they ever said 'the voices told them to do it.'

"... Damascus, when was the last time you ate anything?"

"That's my problem, not yours," he answered defensively. "Right now you need this a lot more than I do. You only ate a little bit last night, and you need more energy than that in your condition."

"But aren't you leading the dawn patrol tomorrow?" she squinted at him.

"Cutlass, for Arceus's sake, will you just listen to me for once?" he nearly wailed, but caught himself. Her eyes widened at him as he went on. "I hate seeing you this way, Cutlass. I come in here to see you five times a day and you just..." he shook his head at her minutely, almost unable to find the words to make her understand. "...You just have this empty, defeated look on your face, like a completely different Pokemon or something. You don't look the same anymore..." Damascus then presented the meal that was meant for him to her again. "I'd be willing to go hungry for a while if it meant I would have you back sooner."

The younger Pawniard still held his gaze for a moment before doing anything else. She'd known how much her brother would fuss over her from the moment she hit that boulder, so this should have come as no surprise to her. She'd just made the observation that, as of late, it seemed as if he worried about her a lot more than what could be considered normal or even healthy. Briefly, she brought about the mental notion that there was something he knew that she didn't, something he was keeping from her. She dismissed the thought for later contemplation and did as he'd asked, stabbing the cooked avian with her right blade and taking it from his. To further ensure he would calm down, she immediately took sizable bites out of it.

Relieved, he licked his blade clean of any leftover residue or juices the meat may have left, not daring to speak another word for the mortal fear that she would suspect something. He regretted raising his voice at her the way he did, but she just drove him mad sometimes. Didn't she know how much she made him worry? Didn't she know how much joy she brought into his life? Didn't she know how much he cared about her? Didn't she know how much he wanted to see her smile again?

Didn't she know how much he loved her?

XXXXX

Dour gray clouds loomed overhead in the morning, dominating the skies and dampening the colors of anything beneath them. With them came the threat of a cold rain. The air lay still and thick with humidity, having no breeze to keep it moving. Not a sound was to be heard, no birds or other Pokemon. A light fog slightly obscured vision, but not close up. Cutlass could still see her father perfectly even though they stood at opposite ends of the sparring ground, and the rest of the pack had no difficulty watching from behind the trees off to the side. None of them dared to break the heavy silence that lay over the mountain, though Damascus silently prayed no more harm would come to his sister, especially now that she'd just finished recovering from her last battle. He would die if he had to see her hurt again!

"Today," Rapier began, his booming voice only just barely muted by the humid air, "you will witness what takes place when a Pawniard defies their leader." He spoke to his entire pack, though his piercing yellow eyes were locked with those of his daughter. "Should Cutlass win this battle, there will be no consequences but the scars she will gain in doing so. Should she lose, however..." he paused briefly to turn his head and let his glare sweep over the Pokemon he governed from the corner of his eye, "... then she is to be banished into exile for the rest of her days."

A glint appeared in Cutlass's eyes at the word "exile," though her helmet did well to mask it. Her father's eyes returned to hers, with more intensity than before.

"This is your last chance, Cutlass," he gave her a final warning, inclining his head just so. "Are you absolutely certain you want to stand by this decision?"

Every eye in the pack went to the only female therein. Twelve pairs of eyes held expectant gazes, though the thirteenth displayed pleading desperation. The pair of icy blue eyes met her fiery yellow ones for a split moment before she spoke next.

"Even if I lose today..." she answered her father, trying to keep her voice from shaking with anticipation, "...I would rather spend the rest of my life in solitude than go on living the way I do."

All eyes went back to Rapier, awaiting his answer. Damascus nearly had to strain to keep his breathing steady and regular. Distraught and on the verge of tears, he brought his blades to cover his eyes, hoping, yet doubting that by some miracle he wouldn't hear his father say what he knew he was about to.

"So be it."

With blinding speed, the Bisharp raced right for Cutlass. She barely had enough notice to dodge it, leaping to the right. She tried to land a quick Brick Break, knowing it was the only move she could use that would do decent damage to him, but he easily countered the attack with his own. Both Pokemon took some damage as a result, but hers was a bit worse. Refusing to show even a trace of wincing from the pain, the Pawniard made a second attempt at landing the same attack in the split moment he was still turned in just such a way that he left himself open. The attack connected directly with Rapier's side, between his two outer ribs. She made sure to back off as a he grunted roughly from the impact.

She tried to land a Night Slash to his face while he was still recovering, but he dodged too quickly, jerking to the side. He avoided her X-Scissor the same way. Before she could make any other attempts, she was knocked back by a hearty Iron Head to the abdominal area. Her father's helmet didn't cut her, as her ribs prevented that possibility unless this was done at an absurd angle, but the force of the attack was enough to blow her back.

She landed on her feet, crouching, and used the reaction force of the landing to her advantage, dashing right back into Rapier in nearly the same moment she'd been hit. She feigned left, then veered off the the right at the last second, just as he was about to block her. This time, her X-Scissor hit its target dead-on. Regardless, this didn't do enough damage to make him falter, and let him get in another attack before she had the chance to put some distance between them again.

Cutlass never saw the Brick Break that hit her.

It came too fast and far too strong. The move hit her square in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She stumbled back only a little, but that was the only opening Rapier needed to hit her again. Before she'd regained her footing, the Bisharp sent her crashing to the ground with a second Brick Break, this time to her chest.

No Pawniard could have possibly withstood that. She landed face-up in the dirt, biting her tongue to keep from crying out in agony. She panted and made an attempt to get back up, but her legs failed her. She hit the dirt again, this time face-down.

That was the last memory she would ever have of the fight: The taste of dirt.

XXXXX

The prior threat of the clouds overhead was carried out the following morning. It was a mild-medium rain, with unusually large drops. It was not dangerous, but it sucked the summer warmth out of anything it fell upon, penetrating the whole mountain with the cold. The cascading water also made a rather unpleasant noise as it hit the helmets of fourteen Steel-type Pokemon below.

The Pawniard formed two parallel lines, each individual only half a Braviary's wing apart from one another, creating the path that Cutlass was meant to walk through. Rapier stood at the first end of one line, beside his son. Every Pokemon present stared after Cutlass as she wordlessly made her way through the path her former packmates made. It was not a long distance to walk, no more than the length of two or three Sevipers' bodies, but it seemed to stretch in front of her endlessly. No one was permitted to speak, and so she could not be insulted or shunned verbally, but the judging glares burning on the back of her neck was more than enough to have the same effect. Finally, she left them behind, only looking back to cast her brother an apologizing look. He returned it.

"Should you ever return," her father called, "You will be considered a trespasser, and dealt with as such."

Damascus watched in painful silence as his only friend and sibling trudged away, still holding one arm to her stomach where she'd been hit. Soon, she disappeared behind curtains of water and fog.

Silently, Cutlass vowed never to let herself be humiliated this way again. She would fight all of her own battles, never again being bound to reliance upon a pack that insulted and rejected her. She would win her own victories, with no one else to impress or share in the glory but herself. She would take any losses gracefully, and improve whatever was wrong at her own pace, in her own way. She would hunt for her own meals, never again having to worry about whether there would be any left for herself after someone else leeched off of it.

And best of all, when she became even stronger than her father was, all the credit would go to her and her alone.

FINALLY. I've actually had the rough draft all written out for almost a week now, but I couldn't fix it up to make it moar prettyful because I was distractions (best sentence evar).

So, yeah, if it wasn't obvious to you in the first 2 chapters why I was hesitant about this (and you'd have to be pretty dumb not to catch on), then NOW it should be really clear. It's the obvious and terrible one-sided "pairing."

Oh Damascus, you twisted little freak, you. That's not what brothers are supposed to think about their sisters~ *flips wrist*

Cutlass, Damascus, Rapier © RedFox09

Pawniard, Bisharp, Braviary, Seviper © Nintendo, Gamefreak


	4. Chapter 4

The rain and fog that let cold claim the mountains had proven to be evanescent, and gave way to sun and warmth as soon as two days after they had come. When they left, it seemed as if the wilderness of Route 11 had sprung back into glorious life from the dead of winter all over again. The proud calls of Braviary rung out in the open skies once again, only occasionally interrupted by the hideous, prolonged squawk of a Mandibuzz. Buizel and Floatzel could be seen swimming swiftly up and down the rivers and rapids in pursuit of fish such as Basculin, or simply basking in the warm summer weather by the water's edge.

Unfortunately, Cutlass didn't have the luxury of being able to relax and enjoy the weather the same way.

For the last two days since she'd been exiled from her pack, she'd taken whatever feeble shelter she could find just outside of her father's domain. Once again, she'd been forced into idleness by her battle wounds, though this time, the damage only took two days to heal.

The first night alone had been the worst of her life. Slowed by the various bruises and aches on her body, it took her until evening to hike down the mountain and safely out of her father's territory, all while shivering uncontrollably from the cold soaked up by her steel armor. She'd searched for nearly half the night to find suitable shelter from the persistent rain. Eventually, she'd taken refuge in an abandoned Seviper's den. Though she was exhausted through to her bones and her body pleaded for sleep, she hardly got any. What little sleep she did get was restless and dreamless.

As much as she loathed the individuals who made up her former pack, she was still a Pawniard. All Pawniard, by nature and instinct, only truly feel safe and at ease with the protection and companionship of their own kind. Without anyone there in the den with her, without the comfort of knowing she was in her own protected territory, and without her brother there at her side, sleeping almost felt dangerous, as if she were leaving herself open to attack. That night's sleep had only come in short, shallow intervals between the long hours of lying awake with her mind reeling, listening to the pouring rain and distant rumbles of thunder.

Thank Arceus that was all over.

Presently, Cutlass had gotten the rest she needed and been traveling eastward from her former home territory for three days, only stopping to hunt every other day. This, as well, proved to be difficult without the help of another Pawniard, but she'd managed to kill and cook a Floatzel on her own, at least.

Though adjusting to the life of a rogue Pawniard was not a fast or easy process, Cutlass was still strong in her resolve to remain independent. Before too much longer, she would evolve into a Bisharp, and be able to start a pack of her own the following spring—or at least, that was her goal.

Until then, her top priority was to get as far away from any Bisharp territory as possible and find another suitable place to live. She took great caution in avoiding humans milling about near the bridge that led into their territory. Instead of moving out in the open, she crept in the cover of the lush trees to one side of the dirt path humans and their Pokemon normally didn't stray far from. Practice and skill made an easy task of avoiding detection. Cutlass knew exactly which angled patches of sunlight to keep her shining armor out of, how far away from the edge of the trees to stay, how quickly to move, and which direction to keep moving.

She wasn't entirely sure how she would stay out of sight when crossing the bridge or passing through human territory, as she'd never actually seen either one, nor had them described to her. She thought it best to simply keep her mind on one task at a time. She would face that problem when she came to it. If all else failed, she could always pass through at night, when the humans would be asleep.

She wasn't far off from where the trees ended and gave way to open ground when she heard just the faintest rustling of tall grass behind her. Knowing there had been no wind to cause it, she turned and took on an offensive stance, with both blades at the ready. She saw no immediate signs of danger, but after a moment had passed, she detected the scent of an enemy pack: Three Pawniard; two males and one female.

As if on cue, Cutlass caught sight of movement in the grass not far in front of her and to the left. For a few second, the axes atop three red helmets peeked out over the tall grass and underbrush. Cutlass could tell that they were moving at an idle pace, which meant they didn't know she was there. She could avoid an unnecessary 1-on-3 fight if she got out of there quickly enough. She turned on her heel and took light, but hasty steps toward open ground...

… Just as the wind picked up in front of her.

The gust wasn't nearly enough to throw her off, but it brought her scent straight to the enemy Pawniard not far behind. Alarmed by the sudden sound of rustling plants coming from their direction, Cutlass tried to make a run for open ground, but it was too late. Within a moment, the rogue Steel-type found herself surrounded by an enemy afternoon patrol. She cursed her luck and raised her blades defensively, waiting for either words or attacks. The opposing female spoke.

"Does Rapier think he has rights to the valleys around his mountain now?" she scoffed.

"I'm not a part of his pack anymore," Cutlass kept her voice even, remembering what had happened the last time she shot off her mouth without thinking. "I was only passing through here. I'll take my leave immediately, if you don't mind." She bit her lip behind the mouthpiece of her helmet as the other female replied.

"Wait a second..." she inclined her head and squinted at her a little. "You're his daughter?"

"I am, but only by blood," she answered, hinting that she would be worthless is they took her as a prisoner and tried to use her for ransom.

"How could you tell that?" the Pawniard behind the former heiress and to her right spoke next, his question directed at his packmate. "She looks the same as the rest of Rapier's pack!"

Cutlass restrained herself from saying anything while the other Pawniard shared a snicker. Were they insulting her fighting abilities or intelligence, she probably would have said something, but it was actually true that she was not a very good-looking female. In fact, she hardly looked female at all, now that she had the chance to compare herself to another Pawniard of the same gender, and roughly the same age. The latter had much more well-defined curves, wider hips, slightly thicker thighs... Cutlass didn't even care to compare other areas. There was no contest.

Not that her looks mattered that much to her, anyway. After all, what would her former packmates have said if they caught her obsessing over how pretty she was like she was some kind of girl or something, instead of devoting that time and energy to something useful, like fighting?

"She sort of does, doesn't she?" the other female laughed lightly, covering her mouth with her blade, even though her mouthpiece was already over it.

"Sort of?" the male who'd been silent up until now wore a grin on his face that was nearly audible in his tone. "She looks just like her brother, save for the ugly blue color!"

Out of reflex, the blades at the ends of her arms extended just beyond their normal length. That last comment had gone just a tad too far. She did NOT look just like Damascus, and even if she did, he wasn't ugly in the first place, regardless of being blue instead of red!

"You might want to stop making this personal," she spoke with her teeth clenched, "before someone gets hurt."

The laughter stopped. "Are you threatening us on our own territory?" the other female scoffed.

"No, just giving you fair warning."

"Fair warning!" she cut her eyes to the side incredulously. "You're outnumbered three to one on enemy territory." She took one emphasized step toward Cutlass and raised her right blade. "If anyone here deserves fair warning, it's you."

"Sure, you're a threat when you're in a group..." Cutlass muttered under her breath, just loud enough to be heard, albeit not clearly.

"What did you say?"

"I said: 'How did you get that huge gash in your leg?'"

"What? I don't have a-"

Before another word could be spoken, Cutlass had made sure the defending Dark-type was given a huge gash in her leg, temporarily immobilizing her. She stumbled backward, too dumbstruck by the sudden pain to even react verbally before she'd fallen on her back into the tall grass behind her.

Her accompanying packmates leaped at Cutlass one after the other with their blades held forward, but she was just quick enough to dodge the anticipated attacks, and even gave the second offender a deep cut in his stomach as he passed her, narrowly missing his target. When the only uninjured Pawniard turned on his heel and tried to land a Night Slash, countering with an X-Scissor was all too easy. Other than the female, these Pawniard must have been at least a couple years younger than Cutlass, and therefore, less experienced, whether they outnumbered her or not.

The X-Scissor had led Cutlass into something more akin to a sword-fight with her opponent than a battle. He lashed out at her with a vertical cut, but he wasn't close enough to make it unavoidable. Next, he tried a horizontal slash, but her blade blocked it. He then executed a nearly flawless forward thrust with both blades, but his lunge was just a tad too slow, and she leaped to the right. Upon evading that attack, she got in a swift Brick Break from the side. The defending Pawniard was sent tumbling away into the tall grass, toward open ground.

Before she thought to turn back to the other two Pawniard, Cutlass received a hearty Slash attack to the back. She whipped around to face her attacker, drawing in a sharp breath through clenched teeth from the pain. Just as the opposing female was about to attack again, Cutlass landed a forceful Brick Break to her stomach. The defending Steel-type slammed into the tree just behind her as a result. When she fell into the grass below, she was still. The attack had only knocked her unconscious; with her helmet on, the damage was far from fatal.

Cutlass took a moment to catch her breath and regain her bearings, ignoring the sting in her back. Open ground was to her left now. Once she'd rested a minute or two, she would have to get moving in that direction again. Arceus only knew when more members of the pack that owned this territory would come along and-

Her thoughts were interrupted by a bright red arm with a blade at the end of it wrapping quickly and forcefully around her throat. She was pulled in close to the body of the first male from the enemy pack, and the external ribs on his torso stabbed into her already-injured back. She could smell the blood welling up from the cut she'd given him across the stomach, as well as her own wounds.

His arm tightened around her throat and cut off her breathing. When she began to struggle, a blade was brought just before her eyes, warning her to stop moving. Regardless, she dug her own blade into his thigh, hoping he'd let go, but all that did was make him tighten his grip even further.

Her mouth gaped for air, though it was in vain. She was deep within an oxygen debt now, and she could feel herself weakening. Desperately, she tried using both of her blades as knives to cut into his legs, but in her condition, she was only able to leave relatively small cuts.

Though she still showed defiant resistance, it was hopelessly futile at this point. Adrenaline rushed through her oxygen-deprived blood. She felt her consciousness slipping. Her vision was going black...

The sound of a body being hit with great force just behind her was the last thing she heard before the ground rushed up before her, and she blacked out.

xxxxx

"Cutlass...?" a distant, but familiar voice called her name. Along with it came an odd sort of buzzing sensation in the back of her head. She groaned, as it was sort of painful. She was being shaken by the shoulders. Someone was trying to wake her up. "Cutlass, can you hear me?" The voice sounded closer and less muted now.

Slitted, yellow eyes cracked open, squinting and narrowing at the sudden light they took in. Once adjusted and no longer blurred, they were met with the sight of identical ice blue eyes.

The former heiress brought her arm to rub across her forehead, her eyes shutting tight again for a moment, still in a daze. She pushed herself up to site, and the face she saw came into clearer focus. Big, round, blue eyes, the left of which had a dark ring around it. Fangs protruded from the sides of his slightly ajar mouth.

"Damascus...?"

Upon hearing her speak his name, the shiny Pawniard threw his arms around his sister and pulled her body into his, though he was careful not to upset her back. Profoundly confused, but still overjoyed to see her brother, she returned the embrace.

"What happened? How did you find me out here?"

"You would have been killed...!" his voice cracked as he stifled tears and held back sobs, entirely ignoring her question. His grip tightened minutely. "If I'd gotten there just a minute later, you would have been killed...!"

At first, his words confused her, but then she remembered the on three Pawniard she'd run into, and the fight that had followed. Damascus was right: If he hadn't shown up exactly as soon as he did, she would have been choked to death. And to think! She hadn't even known she was trespassing in enemy territory until it was too late...

"We're safe now, though, right?"

He nodded, unable to answer on account of the lump in his throat. He began to tremble.

"It's okay, Damascus." She put the flat side of a blade to his back, a little unsettled by how upset he was. She'd seen him upset, sure but she had never seen him cry before. "I'm still here..." she rubbed his back up and down a few times. Another moment passed in silence before he let go of her, wiping his eyes.

"So why are you here? How did you even find me?" Cutlass repeated herself.

"I left a night, two days after you did, when the weather got good again," he started. He had obvious trouble keeping his voice from shuddering as badly as his body was. "I couldn't stay there anymore, Cutlass. Not when you weren't there with me."

That was understandable enough. The siblings were all each other really had in the world, and always had been. She'd missed him immensely the past five days and nights; she could hardly imagine how he must have felt. He fussed over her for nothing all the time, and now he'd actually had reason to worry. Were she put into that position, she'd have done the same thing he did.

"Then... Then who's going to lead the pack when Father dies?"

"When Rapier dies," Damascus emphasized the name as if he were correcting her, "the pack can rot in the ground with him for all I care." He placed the flat side of his blade on her shoulder, looking her square in the eyes. "You've always been more important to me than any of that ever was. If becoming the pack's leader means living without you, I'd rather not live at all."

She held her puzzled expression for a moment. The urgency in his tone and eyes told her that he wasn't exaggerating; he meant every word he said seriously. He honestly would have preferred death over being a pack leader, something any and every Pawniard dreamed of, if he couldn't be with her. If she had been killed just a short time ago, he would have followed her, rather than live out the rest of the life ahead of him.

"... If you say so..."

He removed his blade from her shoulder, and she took the chance to familiarize herself with her surroundings. They were still in the same general forested area of Route 11, and she could faintly hear the river a short distance from their current location. Peering through the treetops high overhead, she could see that it was nearly sunset. She'd been unconscious for half the day. She dared not even try to imagine how exhausted her brother was from worrying all that time.

"Good. Now that that's settled, where are we going?" Damascus inquired so casually it was almost funny, except the question itself asked something that was too serious to be funny.

"I don't know any more than you do," Cutlass admitted. Neither of them had ever ventured beyond the borders of their former territory until the last few days. They had no idea what was ahead of them. "I just know I want to get away from Bisharp territory for now. I was planning to come back once I evolve, and start my own pack, but something tells me you'd be more suited for that..."

"Probably..." he glanced off to the side. "I do have the right training for that..." he trailed off, and was quiet for a moment. "Then again, that's not to say we both couldn't lead a pack," he offered, cautiously.

Some Pawniard packs were, in fact, governed by two Bisharp who'd joined their packs into one. However, this was uncommon, and had only been done by Bisharp who'd chosen to be permanent mates. It was seen as the most significant possible kind of commitment among mated Bisharp, like two humans getting married. Cutlass had never heard of two family members running a pack together, and knowing it usually meant what it did... it sounded awkward, to say the least.

"Um... Are you sure that's a good idea...?" she grimaced. "Wouldn't it look a bit weird if we...?" she didn't want to say it, for how odd it would sound out loud.

He hid his disappointment. "I guess you're right. That would be too weird," he grinned. "We can figure something out later, though, right?"

"Right." She grabbed her helmet and put it on, coming to a stand to stretch her legs. She ignored the pain in her back as she did so. "Think we should get moving and find somewhere to sleep?"

Reunited, the Pawniard siblings continued to travel eastward along the Unova region, stopping only as needed for food or rest. Passing through human territory was more difficult than they'd anticipated, as it consisted of open ground with no cover, save for the shadows cast by some of the taller buildings. At night, however, they had the advantage of moving under a cover of darkness. Their eyesight was adapted to it so that they could see well enough, and what little amount of humans were outside their nests at this time avoided the Pawniard, rather than interfering. Only a very, very few of the humans they came across had Pokemon with them, and those Pokemon—for whatever reason that neither Cutlass nor Damascus could fathom—obeyed every command given to them by the humans to keep their distance. That was just as well; the last thing they needed on their journey was a fight against an enemy the likes of which they'd never encountered before.

Beyond the first human territory they passed through, the land briefly returned to familiar stones and trees. Beyond that, however, the terrain was sand, ocean, wind, and the tall, rocky structures that weaved through it all. The Pawniard elected to keep to themselves atop the cliffs, as humans and their Pokemon idled on the beach below, acting much as the Floatzel and Buizel did back in the rivers flowing through Route 11.

The next town, they were able to avoid entirely. It was wedged tightly between the tall rock cliffs the siblings kept to, and the ocean tide washing up on the shore. It was remarkably small, compared to the last one.

The vast wilderness adjacent to that town very much resembled the siblings' former home. It consisted of smaller mountains and much more frequent waterfalls, but it was largely the same type of terrain, with a very similar structure of stone and plant life. Though neither Pawniard could recognize any of the other Pokemon species residing there, they knew one thing for certain: There were no Pawniard or Bisharp among them. Better still, this place, which they overheard humans call "Route 14," was significantly larger and more spacious than Route 11.

But even that wasn't the end of it! This route, rather than being surrounded by human territory, as their old home had been, ran into a massive forest. It was overgrown with lush plant life, and marked by trees that grew so tall, their top branches could hardly be seen. Surely there would be good hunting here, if nowhere else. They may even be able to eat some of the plants, if they had to!

Upon this discovery, it was decided that the Dark-types would remain here, entirely undisturbed by enemy Pawniard packs, free to roam and hunt as they pleased. Instinctively, they hiked up the stone slopes that jutted up between the rivers until they came across an abandoned den of some sort carved into one side of a cliff. It was not a natural occurrence. Whatever had lived in this den had been huge, and powerful enough to create the hollow in the solid stone wall by itself—it was even bigger than the den they'd slept in back on Route 11. It was more secluded, as well. Trees and tall grass hid it from the glances of passers-by, if there would even be any this high up. It was perfect!

They found it not a moment too soon, either, for by this time, summer had reached its end. 

I've actually had the rough draft of this chapter ready to be edited for weeks, and only starting the night before last did I do it.

I are laziness!

It's okay, though, because I have half of Chapter 5's rough draft written already. I can't make any promises it won't take as long as this, one, though.

Let's playing taught me a long time ago to stop promising things to my viewers.

Cutlass, Damascus, Rapier © RedFox09

Pawniard, Bisharp, Braviary, Mandibuzz, Buizel, Floatzel, Arceus © Nintendo, Gamefreak


	5. Chapter 5

The lively and beautiful melodies proudly sung by Altaria in the summer had been muted to slower, more quiet tones as autumn set in over route 14. The plentiful waterfalls now threw up cold mists that were unpleasant, rather than refreshing, as they crashed down into the rivers below. A very faint fog was present that morning. So faint, in fact, that neither Cutlass nor Damascus bothered to take notice of it as they stalked through the lush plant life atop a remarkably high cliff.

Quickly, but silently, they made their way through the deciduous trees, advancing toward the largest one on the cliff. This tree towered over the rest quite egregiously, so it was not at all difficult to locate. Watching the skies vigilantly had taught the siblings that a Tropius nest was in or near that tree, most likely at its roots, and that one particular inhabitant of that nest was very young. It was likely no more than a year old, judging by its size and inexperience. As such, it would make an easy target, granted its parents were out of the way.

To ensure themselves this advantage, the pair of Dark-types had awoken remarkably early, as they'd previously observed that this was the time when the father left the nest to east. There was, however, the issue of the mother remaining in the nest to guard her fledgling. With the power of an entire pack, overtaking her by force wouldn't have been an issue. Unfortunately, the siblings no longer had that luxury. They would have to rely on strategy and their own wits, rather than the strength of large numbers, to hunt.

They stopped moving the moment they could scent the fruit that grew under the base of the Tropius' jaws. The large beasts were not yet in sight, and therefore wouldn't be able to spot the Pawniard. Given the Grass-types had a much stronger scent than their hunters, and the fog dampened the already motionless air, it was highly unlikely they would catch the scent of their attackers before it was too late.

Using only hand signals, Damascus explained to his younger sister exactly how they would go about doing this. He pointed first to himself, then up at a high angle, and proceeded to make a sweeping motion with his arm that started directly before him, and ended perpendicularly. This meant he would distract the mother and lead her away from the nest, in the same direction he moved his arm. Next, he pointed to her, then up at a much lower angle, and passed to sharp ens of his blade over his throat. This told her to kill the young Tropius as quickly and silently as possible. Finally, he pointed back to himself, then to her, and made a sweeping motion in the opposite direction of his previous one, punctuated with two stabs at the end. This meant they would carry their victim back to the hollow in the cliff they'd made their home, and they would have to place urgency on speed whilst doing so.

Cutlass nodded to confirm her understanding of the plan, and held her position while Damascus left for the nest. Once the the large roots of the tree above-ground were within sight, he he took less care to remain quiet, and instead focused on moving faster. This strategy required him to catch the attention of the mother Tropius anyway, so it didn't matter how much noise he made.

Damascus stepped out of the rustling tall grass to see very faint movement within the pitch-dark "cave" formed by the base of the partially-uprooted tree. He took this as a sign that the mother was now aware of his presence. He approached the nest as if he owned it, making no effort to hide himself, and quickly raised both blades, taking on a position that suggested he was about to strike.

That was enough to get a violent reaction out of the adult reptile. She gave a piercing hiss and stomped one huge foot after another until she was out in the open before him, wings outstretched, tail lashing.

From where Cutlass had stayed, she could see the head, neck, and body of the beast emerge from the nest, though the grass was too tall for her to catch sight of anything shorter, including her brother. She held her ground and waited until she saw the quadruped stomp off through the foliage, striking with her long neck at the object of her pursuit.

Though the reptile clearly had her full attention on Damascus, Cutlass dared not move until the Tropius was nearly out of sight, lest the Flying-type should somehow notice her. Once she was sure it was safe, the Pawniard made haste toward the nest.

Peering inside, Cutlass's pupils dilated extensively to make out the shape of the fledgling she was hunting. It was huddled at the very back of the nest, cowering. Though it was roughly twice her size, the youngling still panicked when it saw her. It thrashed about wildly and called for its mother with an obnoxious, grainy sort of noise that was typical of vocal reptiles.

With some difficulty, the Pawniard managed to corner the Grass-type and topple it onto its back, putting its vulnerable underbelly within reach. She leaptforth and thrust both of her blades down into her prey's chest, making a lucky guess at where its heart was located. To follow this up and silence the young Tropius, she quickly and forcefully slit the base of its lengthy throat. Blood spurted from the open gash as the Pokemon gurgled helplessly, its struggling soon being mitigated to the occasional twitch of its limbs. She had to use a great deal of strength to haul the dying fledgling out into the open, where Damascus would be most able to give her quick and effective assistance in transporting it once he'd returned.

Letting her eyes adjust once more to block out more light, Cutlass could see movement in the distance of the same direction her brother had led the mother Tropius away. The silhouette of the beast moved in a chaotic and ungraceful manner. Her neck whipped around in every direction, as if she'd lost sight of what threatened her. She stomped her feet and hissed furiously, loud enough that even Cutlass could hear at such a distance, with her helmet on.

Out of the corner of her eye, cutlass caught sight of her brother's shining blue armor just before he burst forth from the grass, surprisingly from a completely different direction than where he'd diverted the mother Tropius to. The urgency in his ice blue eyes compensated for his wordlessness as he hoisted the hind end of the dead reptile up. Cutlass did the same with the front end, and the siblings began the hike back to their hollow, where they would skin and smoke their catch to preserve it for at least a few days.

XXXXX

The Pawniard shared the task of preparing their food, as this usually required at least three Pawniard, and would take the rest of the day. Cutlass went a little further west, where the forest was the most lush, and the trees grew impossibly tall. There, she could search for herbs and berries to cook the Tropius with at her own leisure. The inhabitants of the forest there were incredibly weak. They had to need for strength or knowledge of battling or defense, as there was already far too much edible plant life to be eaten. There was no competition over the food supply, with so much of it to go around.

This left Damascus with the tedious and uneventful job of turning the meat as it smoked on a stake set up over a controlled fire. This was just as well for him; he needed the rest after the hunt, not to mention the hike back to safety.

He'd smoked his meals so many times since he was young that, by now, he didn't even have to give it a thought. Instead, his troubled mind went to his sister, as it often did when he had nothing else to occupy his thoughts. They relied on one another now more than ever, and were rarely apart. Though he normally hated being separated from her, lately, he'd been dreading having to be near her so much.

Well, maybe it wasn't Cutlass that bothered him so much as it was himself. Yes, that was a better way to put it: He just didn't trust himself around her anymore.

Summer was well over with, and already most of the trees and plant life in Route 14 were half-bare. He'd learned from his father—no, Rapier, he reminded himself—that this was roughly the time when mating season among their subspecies started, and would last until the harshest part of winter set in. Though Pawniard belonging to packs—with the exception of leaders' chosen heirs—did not have the required rank to be allowed to breed, all Pawniard still had the natural ability and drive to do so. As such, female Pawniard and Bisharp alike would go into heat during this time, provided they were of age.

Cutlass had become of age just a few moons ago, in spring.

Damascus stared disconnectedly at the crackling fire. He remembered the time a few years ago when he'd caught the scent of a Pawniard's heat. He'd been gathering firewood at the edge of what was supposed to become his territory when he came across it by chance.

The smell was overpowering—not in an offensive way, but quite the opposite. It startled him even years later how enticed he'd been by it. He had taken as much of it unto his lungs as he could, breath after breath, having forgotten the task at hand entirely. Only in retrospect did he realize how hazy his mind had been, how much the scent aroused him. He only stopped and left when he'd caught himself poking out of his sheath.

If that was how drastically the smell affected him at a distance, and coming from the female of an enemy pack, then how bad would it be coming from Cutlass? And on top of that, a female's first heat cycle was almost guaranteed to be the most potent!

He swallowed nervously, turning the stake as his mouth went dry. You didn't have to be Cutlass's lifelong friend and family to tell that she acted on emotion more than reason. Anyone who was informed enough could tell that just by looking at her. Rapier's pack hadn't fought in a war since before he was even the leader of it, before any of its current members had even been born. The pack never had to defend the borders it had won in that war by using force, either. Only rarely would a Pawniard belonging to a pack be badly wounded by hunting even the most powerful of prey.

Yet, because she was so quick to fight over the small things, she constantly had battle wounds ruining what he thought could have been a beautiful body otherwise.

Knowing that much about her, Damascus could very well guess how she would act once she went into heat. Her urges would be even stronger than his, and she had no plausible way to relieve herself without a partner. She no longer belonged to a pack, nor the rules that governed one. There was nothing that really stopped her from mating, if she wanted to.

That alone wasn't what bothered Damascus. She was old enough to make that choice for herself, and he knew full and well that he couldn't stop her if he wanted to. He'd already come to terms with the inevitable fact that she would never think of him that way, and that she would one day find another male to be her mate. He didn't mind as long as she was happy—or at least, he tried forcing himself to believe that.

The problem was that she wouldn't be able to find someone else now.

The siblings were the only two Pawniard withing half a moon's traveling distance, if not more. Unlike many other species, Pawniard and Bisharp scarcely mated outside of their own subspecies, and even then only if they belonged to humans. More than that, wild Pokemon NEVER mated within families, as the offspring this produced were often unfit to survive.

The mating process wasn't always just a way to make babies, either. Among the more intelligent subspecies of Pokemon, such as the one Damascus belonged to, it was a very intimate commitment. Many Pokemon subspecies kept the same mates for life, and his was no exception. In many cases, mated Bisharp would even live together, and the packs they rules would be forged into one.

He'd already tried so hard not to love her. He'd tried to see only her faults, only her shortcomings. She was stubborn. She was insolent, irrational, unreasonable, a slave to her own emotions, as he was. She was spiteful. She held a tremendous grudge. She was easily upsettable. She took more insult and less compliments than she was given. Her only outlet for the hate she held onto for being born an outcast was violence.

Yet, for all her faults, he only loved her more. In all her weaknesses, there was strength. She was stubborn, but that only meant she pursued what she wanted without giving up, even when it was hopeless. She gave in to her emotions, but he admired her for doing that rather than trying to escape or deny them the way he did. She was easily insulted and quick to fight, but didn't that mean that she stood up for herself, rather than taking abuse? What kind of world did he live in, when he was expected to think any less of someone like her than he did?

Even though he loved Cutlass more than she was likely to know, she was still his sister. He knew how wrong it was that he felt the way he did about her. He'd known it for years. Sometimes he even hated himself for it. More often that that, he was unsure what to think of it. Did it make any sense to berate himself so much over something he had no control over? Should he just be happy that she was a part of his life, and that they didn't bicker the way most siblings did? Or should he wish they hadn't been related at all, so he could be free to be captivated by her boldness, her vitality, her persistence, her mercilessness, her defiance?

And then he would remind himself that it didn't matter what he thought of his own unwanted emotions. Regardless of what he thought of his love for her, or how innocent his affections toward her were intended to be, it was still wrong. Horribly wrong. Unthinkably wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong...

"Is the ground really pretty, or are you falling asleep?"

Damascus jumped a little at the unexpected question, and his head shot up. Cutlass was hovering over his shoulder, and beside her lay a sizable pile of berries and herbs to flavor the Tropius with. How long had she been standing there?

"Wha—I was just thinking again, that's—that's all," he stammered a little, averting his eyes from her, and turning the Tropius over again.

"I think you think a little bit too much," she smirked knowingly. "So what was it this time?" She found a smooth part of the rock wall that formed the outside of their hollow to lean back against. She used her foot to scoot her helmet into the shelter. She crossed her legs and folded her arms with finality, awaiting his answer. He could tell she didn't want a lie this time.

If there was ever anything close to a good time to tell her the truth, it would have to be now, before she pieced it together herself when mating season set in and he started acting differently around her. He didn't know how he would make her understand something he himself didn't, but he had to try. If she hated him, then so be it. She deserved to know.

His mouth went dry again, and he took a deep breath before answering. He swallowed his self-loathing and forced himself to look at her.

"You."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're worrying about me again, huh?"

"Well... that's part of it, yes," he allowed himself. "I mean... you could go into heat any day now, and I don't know what to do about it."

She gave him a condescending smirk. "How about we let ME worry about that?" Normally, she would have been absolutely right. After all, it was her body, not his. But his was going to be affected, too.

"That's not all of it, though," the shiny insisted. He took a brief moment to turn the Tropius again before continuing, trying to gather the right words. "Cutlass... You know I love you more than anything, right?" He searched her eyes, afraid of what he would find.

"Of course," she nodded indifferently.

"...A little more than I'm supposed to, even?"

"What do you mean by that?" she inclined her head just so.

He tried to swallow again, but had a very unfortunate lack of anything to swallow.

"I wish I knew how to tell you this..." he started, painfully aware of how much his voice was shaking. Still he met her eyes, in spite of himself. "I guess a good way to put it is... I don't love you. I'm in love with you." He braced himself for her reaction as soon as he'd said it.

There was a moment of tense silence. The air between them grew thick. Neither Pawniard moved, but their eyes remained locked for what felt like years. Damascus fought panic that began to rise within him, but for once, refused to look away from her.

Finally, she tore her eyes away from his and shook her head. What was she supposed to say to that? What was she suppsed to think? It explained so much! It explained everything!

"Damascus, I... You can't... That's so wrong...!"

"I know it is," he conceded, "and I don't expect you to feel the same way about me. It's better that you don't." There was a poorly concealed wistfulness in his words that kept Cutlass from believing he really meant them. She suspected that this went back even farther than she'd guessed before.

"I was never going to act on it," he tried to explain, halfheartedly fighting back tears. "Before we left the pack, I was never even going to tell you or anyone else. I was just going to try to be the best friend and brother I could be for you, because you deserve at least that much. But, now..." he trailed off, but she knew what he was hinting at.

She would go into heat any day now, and there was no one within a reasonable distance to relieve her of it. She would stay in heat until the middle of winter, and meanwhile, it would bother him just as much as herself.

"I just thought it was better that you found out this way instead," he mumbled solemnly. "I'm sorry that I lied to you for so long, Cutlass. You're all I ever had. I didn't want to lose you..." he stopped, becoming aware of how pathetic he must have sounded to her. He dragged his attention back to the Tropius. He turned it again, and wiped his other arm across his face, already sensing a gap forming between him and his sister. She always used to embrace him until the tears stopped, but she didn't this time. She probably never would again, knowing what she did now.

With a heavy presence of words left unsaid and questions left unasked, the two Pawniard ate in uncomfortable silence.

* * *

><p>Sad and nuckin' futs Damascus is sad and nuckin' futs.<p>

Cutlass, Damascus, Rapier © RedFox09

Pawniard, Bisharp, Altaria, Tropius © Nintendo, Gamefreak


	6. Chapter 6 LEMON

Hot. Uncomfortably hot. Incredibly hot. Unbearably hot.

By the third time Cutlass woke up like this, she'd shifted from wondering why it was called "heat" to wondering how she supposed to stand it. Her blood burned beneath her skin, her thighs felt half-numb with tension, and the only thought she could focus on for more than five seconds was relief. Every instinct screamed at her to mate, or at the very least get some other kind of friction going between her thighs. It was getting harder to think of it as an obstacle to overcome instead of a need to satisfy. More than once during the last two nights, she'd briefly entertained the thought of giving in and doing just that. It would have been so easy to sneak away on her own somewhere, and even easier to slip her arm down between her legs, just for a few minutes...

She then decided it was best to get up and put her mind on something else before she did anything she would regret. She forced herself to sit up and close the persistent gap that had kept forming between her legs.

A quick glance at Damascus told her he hadn't been sleeping. Again. She still wasn't sure what exactly had been keeping him awake—self-loathing that he still felt the way he did about her, spite at the distance that had formed between the two since he told her, the alluring scent that had started coming off of her in waves three mornings ago, or some kind of combination of the three. The sunrise let just enough light into the hollow for Cutlass to make out the stain of dried tears on his face, but she found it hard to take note of that, because he was poking out of his sheath again. It was nothing she hadn't already seen since years ago, so she wasn't put off by it anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact. She had a little trouble looking away from it while she spoke to him.

"You were crying again..."

"If it annoys you, I can go somewhere else to do it," he offered, refusing to look at her.

She was a little taken aback by that response. Had he really begun to think so little of himself? She suddenly became aware of how much she'd been avoiding him since he'd confessed, and supposed he took this as repulsion on her part.

"No, that's not why I said it."

As if made of stone, he remained lying on his back, still and unmoving. He kept his tone neutral and his gaze on the ceiling. "Then why bother to say it? You haven't said anything else to me in the last week."

"I..." she was at a loss. "I'm sorry, Damascus, I—I just don't know what I'm supposed to think of you anymore..."

"You don't know what to think of me anymore?" he finally moved, getting up to stand, and looking her square in the eyes for the first time in a week. He didn't know how else to vent everything that had run through his mind in that time, so he just said it. He stood there and accused her, as if she had knowingly made him feel so rejected and unwanted.

"That's all, then? You don't hate me? You don't think I'm disgusting or perverted? You don't wish you had someone else for a brother? You don't wish you could just leave and never have to see me again?"

"Damascus-"

"YOU DON'T WISH I WOULD HAVE DIED THAT WINTER WHEN I WAS SICK SEVEN YEARS AGO?"

XXXXX

_The harsh winter wind howled just outside the opening of the sleeping quarters. Nearly the whole of Rapier's pack was out hunting , as food had become scarce, and only a few members of the pack were old enough to hunt._

_Unfortunately, its formerly-most-able member had to stay behind._

_The bed-ridden shiny Pawniard lay on his back, his lungs so heavy it was hard to breathe. He shivered uncontrollably, both from the cold and fear for his life. His latest fit of congested coughing had finally settled down, but now his throat had been left even closer to closing up completely than it ever had before. It took nearly all the strength left in his aching, oxygen-deprived body to stay conscious and keep breathing._

_He knew he was going to die before the next morning. He'd contracted a fatal disease that invariably killed each of its victims within a few days, or at the very most, a week. The illness attacked the respiratory tract, gradually closing up the victim's lungs and throat until the infected Pokemon suffocated. The disease was not known to be contagious, but there was also no known cure. All hope for his survival had been cast aside by the rest of the pack. He hadn't even been fed since the first coughing fit had struck four days ago, as there was not enough food left to waste any on a pack member who was unable to contribute their own hunting efforts to compensate._

_With each coughing fit, Damascus's life was slipping. Somehow, he knew his next fit would be his last. He'd already accepted it. He considered himself lucky even to have lived to the age of twelve. Two of his sisters died before they ever hatched, and his brother had died two years ago, at the age of six, his life cut short by the very same illness that afflicted Damascus now._

_His only concern was for what would happen to his last sibling._

_Cutlass stubbornly remained at his side, refusing to accept the inevitable. He HAD to live. She'd already had so much loss in the 11 years she'd been alive. If she lost him, there would be nothing left. No friends, and no family besides her father, who, in all fairness, was a warrior first, a leader second, a dictator third, and a parent last._

_She didn't even want to rule the pack when she grew up. They didn't accept her or her brother as their future rulers, or even as their equals. She was the only female in the pack out of five who had ever survived for more than a year or two, and thus they shared the impression that all females were inferior. Damascus had a coloration unlike anything any living Pawniard or Bisharp had ever seen before, and so everyone assumed this was an unwanted deformity. It was thought of as a stain in the otherwise fine and flawless fabric of Rapier's bloodline that was to be cut off at Damascus's generation by disallowing him to pass it on to children of his own. It was a disgrace._

_The pack didn't want either of them. She was the only one who cared if he died. She refused to leave him when everyone else had. She wouldn't give up on him. She clung to him as if for her own life, her arms wrapped around his torso, her body shaken by shudders and sobs..._

XXXXX

"... Was that when it started?" Cutlass finally ended the silence that had settled between her and her brother since his last outburst.

He nodded, finding himself on the verge of tears again. "You were the only reason I kept gasping for air." He covered his face with his arms. "You were the only one who ever cared, and now I don't even have you anymore...!"

So that was why he'd cried every night since confessing to her. That was why he even cried over her so easily _at all _lately_._ That was why he'd been unable to sleep without her at his side since ever since he'd gotten sick, all that time ago.

He didn't just love her; he had an abandonment complex.

And she had done exactly that in the last week—abandoned him.

That was enough. She ignored the awkward situation that had formed between them. She ignored the fact that he thought of her as more than a sister. She even ignored the reactions both of their bodies were having to her heat. He still needed her, and she still needed him; that mattered more than anything else.

She comforted him the same way she always had when he cried before he'd told her he loved her; the same way he needed her to right then. She embraced him. He returned it eagerly, holding onto her so tightly that both their sets of external ribs locked with one another. The flat sides of her blades came to rest on his back, and she stroked it up and down a few times, the same as when he'd found her after she'd been exiled not long ago.

"I'm still right here, Damascus," she soothed. "You're still my friend, and my brother. I haven't forgotten that."

Instead of responding with words, he just tightened his grip and kept crying, though it had gotten more quiet.

By the time the sun had completely risen above the horizon, the crying had subsided entirely. In spite of that, they still held on to one another. Damascus was reluctant to let go of her again, and Cutlass found herself almost unable to. Now that he'd been calmed down, and she had nothing else to distract her from it, her heat had started acting up again. He was her brother, true, but he was also the opposite sex, and his body was incredibly close to hers. Up until then, she'd never really noticed how _male_ his scent was, either...

Becoming aware of the smell of her heat flaring up again, he let go of her and covered his nose. A familiar, unwanted warmth returned to his face when he remembered he was still poking just out of his sheath. He wasted no time in thinking of an excuse to leave.

"Um... I ate the last of the Tropius last night, so we're going to need more food."

"I can't hunt like this..." Cutlass was loathe to turn down the opportunity to sink her blades into something, but she'd learned her own limits well enough by now that she knew better. "The smell would give me away before I even got close to anything, and I can't think straight in the first place..." she shifted her position slightly to lean against the hollow's wall on her side, crossing her legs awkwardly.

"Err, right..." he hadn't thought of that. It would be tough to hunt anything worth eating if he didn't have any help; most of the prey in the area was big and powerful. The only smaller prey were Golduck and Mienfoo, the latter of which held a colossal type advantage over Pawniard. He highly doubted there would be any eggs to steal around this time of year; fall had set in, and trying to keep eggs warm would be too foolish for any Pokemon to try, save for perhaps an Ice type, but no such Pokemon lived anywhere within a reasonable distance. Most of the plants were already half-dead by now, so foraging in the nearby White Forest would be a huge chore that would yield few desirable results.

"I guess I could try to find a Psyduck somewhere and we could eat that..." he offered, quickly running out of options.

"Better than nothing," she shrugged. Psyduck were nowhere near as tasty as Golduck, but taking down a Golduck was tough without help. They were too quick, and had the advantage of attacking from a distance, something that Pawniard lacked. She would have to settle for now.

"I'll be back later, then," he stifled a sigh of relief and headed for the biggest part of the river with utmost haste, nearly forgetting to bring his helmet in the process.

It wasn't difficult to find a young, plump Psyduck and lure it away from its parents, nor was it difficult to decapitate the bird. If anything, it was just a little annoying to carry the fat thing back up to the hollow to be cooked and eaten.

Unlike the previous week, the two Dark-types engaged in conversation over their dinner, as they used to. The main topic was what they were going to do about the food shortage during winter. It was much easier to feed two mouths than thirteen, but it was also considerably easier to hunt with the power of thirteen rather than just one. Hunting the hibernating Tropius population was out of the question—that was practically suicide without the force of large numbers. The Altaria were migrating, and only one flock or two had yet to leave for a warmer climate. The plants were dying quickly, and with them, their fruits. Neither Cutlass nor Damascus had any fishing experience, but unless they wanted to eat nothing but Psyduck all winter, it seemed they would have to learn quickly. At the very least, Cutlass would be able to do this without worrying about the scent of her heat giving her away.

As imperative as the subject at hand was, neither of them were really focused on talking about it, thanks to that very same scent. Damascus stared disconnectedly at the meat skewered on his blade as he took bites from it, but it was easy to tell he wasn't really seeing what he was looking at. He'd given up on trying to cover his nose by the time dinner was half-over. It was pointless. The smell was too strong to avoid breathing in, especially when the source was only a few feet across from him, on the other side of the fire that did nearly nothing to ward off the Arceusdamned scent. He didn't even want to know how far he'd slid out of his sheath, but his best guess was at least halfway.

Were he aware that Cutlass was having such a difficult time trying not to stare at the dark reddish organ, he may have made some effort to cover it.

It still looked oddly grotesque to her when she really thought about it, but when she considered how it might _feel,_ it was vastly more appealing. Though she hadn't seen the entire length of it, it still looked like it would be enough to fill her completely, and maybe even stretch her out a bit. She noticed it twitch once, and tried to imagine how it would feel if it did that inside her...

… Then Cutlass noticed the stone she'd been sitting on was getting a little wet, and immediately crossed her legs together. She forced back a sigh of frustration, her face flushing red. She didn't dare take her eyes off her food again, and she didn't know how she could take another night of this. She knew Damascus must have been feeling the same way, though he wasn't going to portray it. She'd already reacted so badly when he'd told her he had any feelings for her at all, let alone sexual ones. He probably thought she'd never forgive him if he did.

Whether it was just the smell itself that was causing it, or he really was attracted to her that way specifically, it was obvious to Cutlass that his body was going through the same stress hers was. She had the same blood in her veins that he did, but they were also a male and a female, both with natural needs and desires. How wrong would it really be if they were to satisfy each other...?

"... Damascus?" she half-mumbled, hardly believing what she was about to say.

"Hm?" he snapped out of his blank stare, not having expected to be spoken to again at that moment.

"My heat is _reeeaally_ bothering me," she groaned, leaning back a little.

"Uhh, o-okay..." His eyes widened minutely, and he had to look away from her again. But he couldn't. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I want you to do something about it." She uncrossed her legs and spread them, hoping she looked as good to him as he did to her right then.

"WHAT?" his voice cracked awkwardly.

"You know as well as I do neither of us can stand this," she pointed to his mostly-erect member, "and I don't think I can even put up with it all fall and winter."

Dumbstruck, he found himself at a loss for words, and unable to look away from her little pink folds, and that tiny opening that promised him the world and more. She had a point: They would both be miserable until spring if they did nothing about it, and fall had just barely set in.

But that was no excuse. What kind of brother would he be if he went through with this, even if she'd given her obvious and full consent?

"I..." he shook his head. "I can't do that, Cutlass."

"Why not?" she tried to tempt him further. "You want to. I want to. I won't think any less of you. No one would know. No one but Arceus Itself can judge us."

"_I _would know," he countered. "It's wrong, and I know that. Even if it wasn't, what if something happened? What if I hurt you? And, what if you have eggs? What then?"

"I'm half Steel-type, Damascus. I have a high pain tolerance, so you're probably not even big enough to hurt me. Besides..." she scooted back further on the flat stone and lay on her back, "... eggs break easily."

What she said was completely detestable, but seeing her lying on her back with her legs spread for him, her clitoris peeking at him, and the little hole beneath it twitching and glistening with the light of the nearby fire had more of an effect on him. He felt his pulse throbbing in a place he wished it wasn't. His resistance was weakening faster than his knees.

"... We really shouldn't do this..."

"And you really shouldn't be in love with me, either, but you are."

He wasn't sure if he could argue with that, nor was he sure whether he even wanted to try anymore.

"... Can we at least go inside first?" If they were going to go through with it, they might as well not be _entirely _indecent. Besides, the rock she was lying on didn't look comfortable.

"Fine." Cutlass pushed herself up and gave him a smile that was half sincere and half triumphant, leading him into the hollow. She lay on her back again, this time in his bed, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he lay atop her.

Because this was a time when most Pokemon only had one or two specific mating positions per subspecies based on body type, rather than being able to choose between several, this was the only option they knew of. Put simply: They weren't built like canines, so they wouldn't mate like canines. Such a thing had not been heard of yet, the same way only very similar subspecies of Pokemon could communicate even loosely at this point in time.

Their only other option was for her to straddle his waist and bounce on him, but that was too advanced for anyone without experience. Instead, he would remain on top of her the whole time, unless they chose to try other alternatives to actual mating. He chose his angle carefully when doing this, so that the sets of blades on their torsos would lock, rather than cut into one anothers' stomachs. He'd been this close to her plenty of times, but under the new circumstances, he felt... pressured. He was unsure of himself. He didn't think he'd have the stamina or experience to satisfy her before tiring out.

But that didn't matter just yet. For now, he was content with pressing his lips to hers, relishing the content hum she gave when he did. They both found this oddly addictive, and soon one kiss became many kisses. As this went on, her arms and the flat sides of her blades explored his shoulders, his back, his sides... Hardened muscles were evident beneath his tough skin, and for reasons she didn't understand, she loved to feel them. He would have made a strong leader and warrior if he had taken the chance that was given to him, but right now, she was more glad than ever that he hadn't.

It didn't take long for them to get more passionate. She kept him in place by holding the back of his head as best she could, and rubbed his tongue with hers. They tasted one anothers' dinner, but somehow it wasn't unpleasant to them. Their mouths just stayed molded together, and they explored each others' thoughtlessly, having forgotten all notions of being siblings. That was no longer significant.

He took a particular interest in his sister's lower body, stroking up and down from her hips to her thighs and back. She pressed into his touch with a small sound of approval that was neither a coo nor a moan, but something in between. Acting on instinct and impulse, she ground her hips against his, thus rubbing the underside of his now fully-unsheathed organ against her folds. He groaned upon feeling pleasure like this for the first time, and rubbed back, changing his angle enough to grant her most sensitive bundle of nerves some much-coveted attention. She gave a low moan, wrapping her legs around his waist and locking her ankles. He bit the inside of his lip, his face flushing red when he realized precum was already leaking from his tip, adding to the fluids that had already coated her dark pink vulva.

The shiny Pawniard doubted he would last long at all once he was inside, and he doubted even more that he could handle doing this twice, having no previous experience. Still, he wanted to make this the best experience for her that he could, and there were a few other ways he could do that.

Damascus continued to slowly grind against her as he left a trail of kisses that started at her mouth and led down to her chest, between her two buds. She was a little less developed there than most female Pawniard her age, but she wasn't at all far behind, either. There still would have been enough fat for him to squeeze, but unfortunately, Pawniard didn't get hands until they evolved. For now, he merely ran his tongue over the right lump a few times, noticing her skin was much softer here than elsewhere. He then let his tongue drag over her peaking teat.

"Mmmph..." the former heiress moaned just a bit louder than before as he suckled it. At the same time, he delicately rubbed the left one in circles. She had to keep herself from writhing under his touch. It was pleasing, but she was as impatient as ever, wanting him to focus more on the throbbing ache in her core. The outside rubbing wasn't enough anymore—she needed something to fill the void of her dripping center.

The older sibling seemed to pick up on this quickly. He let his tongue drag along her skin from her now saliva-covered breast down to her opening, and the raw scent—not to mention the sweet taste—of her heat intoxicated him all over again. It was no wonder why they called it "heat." Her inner folds felt torrid against his lips and tongue.

On the receiving end, Cutlass was more than happy to finally start feeling a little satiated. He held onto her hips with his blades as his tongue flicked over that little bundle of nerves relentlessly, and she was just as content to keep her legs locked around his face and neck. She keened at his ministrations, and her pulse started racing when he poked his tongue inside her. Pawniard had short little tongues, but this was entirely new territory, so that hardly mattered. A small gasp escaped her as he started pumping his tongue in and out, the first few involuntary squeezes around it sending shivers up her spine. They soon got into sort of a rhythm of this, and she started clenching the wet muscle of her own accord every time it pushed in, panting and moaning with abandon all the while...

And then it stopped.

She let her legs slip off his shoulders as his tongue left her, groaning at the loss. But he wasn't going to leave her untouched for long. He licked along her folds one last time to savor the taste, and then covered her body with his again. She smirked with feminine pride—something she never thought she would do—when she felt something hot and hard settle between the lips of her entrance again. He held her sides and pulled back just a little, his thick tip prodding her opening. He hesitated for a moment, remembering the significance of what he was about to to, what he was about to take away from her. Their eyes locked.

"Cutlass... Are you really sure about this?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she locked her legs around his waist again, and pulled him in with one abrupt motion. His back arched at the sudden warmth and tightness around his endowment, and he struggled to keep his hips from moving. She bit the inside of her lip as she took in his entire length, the stretching causing a minimal amount of pain. She thanked Arceus she was half-Steel type, and didn't even want to guess how much it would have hurt otherwise. She averted her gaze from where their bodies had joined, and instead looked up at his eyes again.

"Don't move yet, okay?"

"I won't," he murmured, covering her mouth with his again and desperately wishing he could start drilling into her, but he knew it would hurt her, so he was patient. This time she tasted her own juices on his tongue, and flushed red at the thought of it. She briefly wondered if his tasted anything like hers, but knew she probably wouldn't get the chance to find out. Before much longer, the pain subsided, and she'd accommodated him. She pulled her lips away from his, her warm breath teasing them as she panted subtly.

"I'm ready."

That was all Damascus needed to hear.

He'd been nearly overcome by the urge to start going as fast as he could and hit orgasm the minute she'd first pulled him in, but he knew better. He started with slow, steady thrusts, taking all but the tip of his length out of her before sliding it all the way back in again. A breathy moan rattled her throat once he'd found his rhythm. The tension that had built in her core over the last three days and nights was finally starting to be worked off. She tried to buck her hips and clench his girth in time with his thrusts, but had trouble doing both at the same time, as she wasn't used to using those particular muscles yet. Instead, she left the movement up to him, and contented herself with just squeezing him upon each entrance, the same as she'd done with his tongue. She grinned in triumph when he gave a low moan, still entirely unused to this kind of pleasure himself.

He picked up the pace once he was sure he'd leaked out enough precum to do so without causing any damage, eliciting louder moans from her. Pleasure wracked his body in waves even as she was unable to keep up, and had to switch to grinding her hips against his. He was barely able to handle this much. All too soon, he felt his stomach starting to tighten.

"Cutlass..." he huffed, "I can't keep going much longer...!"

"I'm close, too...!" she panted, her bright yellow eyes half-rolled back.

Her thighs clenched around his waist tighter than ever as his thrusts lost their rhythm and became more erratic. He moved as fast as he could, losing himself in her warmth, her tightness, her wetness, her moans... The knot in his stomach was tightening, building up to what would be the first orgasm of his life. The occasional drips of lubrication from his tip became frequent spurts. He put everything he had into a few final thrusts...!

Damascus pressed his lips to hers as he buried himself inside her one last time and let himself release into her awaiting core. She pressed back and clenched tightly and uncontrollably around him, her own orgasm set off by the force of his hot fluids shooting right past her cervix. Their chests heaved as they reached the height of pleasure and stayed there for a bit. There was nothing in their world but themselves, their joined bodies, and the pleasure for nearly a minute. She moaned into his mouth, a long, drawn-out sound of bliss.

Soon, the feeling started to die, and her legs trembled as they left his waist. Their mouths separated as they came down from their high, their chests heaving as they panted, suddenly becoming exhausted. He pulled his length out of her folds with a small _squelch,_ his face heating up again when he saw that some of his juices were leaking back out. She pulled him back into her arms and held his body atop hers, ignoring his wet member pressing against her leg.

A pleasant sort of tingling sensation was left behind where the shiny's orgasm had died. His guess had been right—he was suddenly becoming drowsy. He wanted to tell Cutlass he loved her, but it still felt so completely wrong. As the haze of his mind cleared up more, the weight of what he'd just done sank in. He'd taken his little sister's virginity away, along with his own. It bothered him, how easily he'd given in to it, and how _wrong_ it was, and how _amazing _it was_._

And that he would do it again if he could.

"Damascus?" she murmured, smiling up at him weakly, the usual blazing fire in her eyes reduced down to a glowing ember.

"Hmm...?" he blinked at her with heavy eyelids.

"I love you too."

* * *

><p>Took me long enough to finish this stupid thing. Jeez!<p> 


End file.
